"I say, I say, you're looking a bit hen pecked."
Christel Hammar-Malmgren woke up one morning in July to the sound of two roosters crowing. This was odd. She owns only one. She was soon to discover there was something running a-fowl in the hen house.
Anne Boleyn, one of her black hens, metamorphosed, no - not into a cockroach, but into a rooster. Anne had sprouted (no, not a third chicken breast) a comb, tail and wattle. She had been a little "different" from the start. She didn't take to her nest, gossiping with the other hens all day and her eggs were nothing to cluck home about.
Henry the VIII, the former head rooster, is shaking his tail feathers in fury.
"Henry VIII is bloody angry. The other hens are mostly just surprised but they seem to increasingly accept him or her," said Hammar-Malmgren. "She had lost most of her hen feathers and had begun growing a comb and tail."
But unlike the Anne of olde, there are not plans to take this Anne to the chopping block.